Apollo
I stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows of my office, the skyline sprawling beneath me like a painting I’d grown bored of. The glass reflected faint traces of my own silhouette, with hands in my pockets, tie loosened, and jaw tight.
Behind me, a familiar voice broke through the silence.
“Mr. Apollo.”
I didn’t turn immediately. I already knew who it was.
When I finally glanced over my shoulder, Austin was bowing his head slightly, standing just inside the door.
“Mr. Apollo,” he said again, straighter now.
I looked him over. The lines around his eyes were a little softer. His skin had some color again. Still, the man was fifty-eight, he shouldn’t have been standing here.
“Can you drive?” I asked, keeping my tone neutral. “You should rest a while longer.”
Austin gave
